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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098222">Warmth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediocrityatbest/pseuds/mediocrityatbest'>mediocrityatbest</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Loceit - Freeform, Platonic Loceit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:07:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,394</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098222</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediocrityatbest/pseuds/mediocrityatbest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan can't sleep, but his roommate is very helpful.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Logic | Logan Sanders &amp; Deceit Sanders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Warmth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The second one in a series of unrelated oneshots that I'm writing off sentence prompts. This one was: "I can't sleep."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I can’t sleep,” Logan says, lying in the middle of their living room floor, staring at the ceiling. Calling it a living room is pretty generous, in Logan’s opinion, because they live in a two bedroom apartment with barely enough room just for Logan’s books, let alone the rest of his belongings. Dee, who had walked into the room and startled at seeing Logan before asking what on earth he was doing, sighs at the admission Logan would never usually make.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that more of Virgil’s thing?” he asks, leaning against the wall and staring his roommate down. Logan doesn’t respond at first, considering the ceiling. It is rough, the popcorn texture feeling awful every time he has ever touched it. He wonders if they can affix posters to the ceiling to hide the disgusting quality of it or if the posers would simply fall down, gravity and a desire to not be touching the popcorn ceiling beating out their fastenings. It is something he will likely not remember thinking in the morning, but that calls to him to try in the present nonetheless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Logan?” Dee says. “What’s the problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could be a dozen things,” Logan mutters. “Stress or pent up energy, can’t slow down or nightmares, restlessness or insomnia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was not asking for every possible reason for not sleeping,” Dee says. “I meant you specifically, right now. Why can’t you sleep?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s uncomfortable. And cold.” Logan moves his hands off his stomach and moves them so that they are at a perpendicular angle to his body, fingers slowly running through the carpet. “Why aren’t you asleep?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My sixth sense and awful sense of loyalty,” Dee says, rubbing his face and stepping over Logan. He hears some noises coming from the kitchen, the fridge opening and closing, a glass being set on the counter, the low hum of the microwave. Logan wonders if Dee is heating up apple juice. It would probably not taste very good, but then Logan might be biased because he despises most juice anyway. However, he hates orange juice most of all, its pulp-y texture enough to make him want to crawl out of his skin. Often, Logan has found, even the ‘pulp free’ orange juice still has some remnants of the orange left in it. The company who makes it should be ashamed for-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” says Dee, holding a glass out to Logan. Logan observes it, trying to figure out what it contains. The glass isn’t see-through. He takes it and discovers that it’s warm. Is this the juice Dee was heating up? Why would he give it to Logan when he knows how much Logan hates juice?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Warm milk,” Dee says to Logan’s questioning look, which makes a lot more sense than warm juice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My Grandma used to make this for me when I couldn’t sleep,” Logan says, sitting up and cradling the glass to his chest without actually drinking any of it. Dee hums. Logan considers the wall. When they had first moved in, the walls had been entirely bare. Then Virgil and Patton had come bumbling in and plastered their walls with pictures and posters and lights, making this tiny apartment the homiest place that Logan had ever inhabited. As much as he normally complained about it, he really does like feeling like he lives here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to drink that or just hold it?” Dee asks, sighing like he’s completely done with Logan. Logan lifts the drink and takes a sip. It’s warm and sleepy. Can liquids be sleepy? It probably would be if there were honey in it. Would it taste better or worse with honey? Then again, honey is essentially bee vomit and that’s pretty gross. Logan avoids honey, when possible. It is decent in certain teas, but that does not negate its state of bee-ing bee vomit. Logan snorts at his own joke. Patton would appreciate it. He likes Patton’s puns. They are quite witty and almost always loving and soft, much like Patton himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon,” Dee says, taking the glass from Logan’s hands and hauling him up. Logan stumbles after him, back into his bedroom. Dee pulls the covers down Logan’s bed and motions to it. “Get in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s cold,” Logan says, doing as he’s told. Dee rolls his eyes, pulls the covers up over Logan, and stalks out of the room, glass in his hand. Logan frowns after him. Had he said something that made Dee mad? He hadn’t called the milk juice on accident, had he? Or bee vomit? That would probably make Dee mad at him. And the light is still on by his bed. He’s never going to be able to sleep with that on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dee comes back to Logan’s room, this time with a water bottle. He sets it on the table by Logan’s lamp and stares him down. “Roll over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Logan asks, fingering the covers the slowly. “I like to face the door.” Dee sighs again and then crawls over Logan’s body like it’s nothing. Logan hums at him, curious but not opposed. He gets jostled as Dee shifts around. The light clicks out. The covers lift off Logan for a  moment. They come back down and Dee is pressing against his back, one arm under the pillow and the other wrapped around Logan’s waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this okay?” he whispers, breath warm against Logan’s neck. Logan hums again, snuggling back into Dee. He’s so warm it is practically burning through Logan’s thin sleep shirt. His glasses move off his face, seemingly of their own accord, and Logan begins to wonder if they are haunted, like Virgil tends to think is always the case. Logan could conduct an experiment with ouija boards and tarot cards, or perhaps he’d have to do some other research before moving forward. Ghosts and hauntings were really more of Virgil’s thing, though they both agreed on the probable existence of Mothman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop overthinking,” Dee says, voice rumbling directly into Logan’s spine like a termite holing up in a newly erected patio. Logan shivers at the feeling and Dee’s arms briefly tighten on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how to turn my brain off,” Logan says back, voice quiet and almost gone. Logan feels like if he just shut his eyes and stopped for a second, he would drift off to sleep and forget all these tired-nonsense thoughts. But he knows better than that, knows that if he tries to stop thinking he’ll just think even more about things he’d rather not consider.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t turn your brain off,” Dee says, and Logan can feel his jaw moving against his back. It’s comforting in a way he didn’t know something could be. It feels real. “You have to keep it occupied. That’s why we dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I don’t know how to make it quiet enough.” Logan shifts slightly, leaning more into Dee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Count. Just count as high as you can. Everytime you get lost, remind yourself about numbers and pick up at the last one you remember. It’ll keep your brain as quiet as it needs to be.” Dee begins to hum quietly and Logan tries to lose himself in the sound. He starts counting the beats as Dee goes, and eventually he doesn’t even notice when Dee’s humming drifts off into nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Around three thousand four hundred and twelve, Logan feels himself losing the numbers before he can really think them. He lets himself float away from the numbers, wondering if he can fly or if that’s just the sleep deprivation kicking in. But then he reminds of his goal, to count as high as he can, and he picks back up at two thousand two hundred and twenty-two, which doesn’t sound right but is a good number regardless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he begins drifting again, Logan lets himself go. The darkness feels warm and comfortable like it hadn’t before, and it’s inviting. Logan lets it wrap around him, lets himself feel safe. The thing about Logan is, he cannot do things without meaning to. If he didn’t think to breathe, he wouldn’t do it. Luckily, though, Logan does think to go to sleep this time, and just as a sliver of light creeps through his window, Logan becomes unaware of his surroundings as much as he can be and gets the rest he deserves, the warmth of Dee grounding him.</span>
</p>
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